Dawn broke cold and gray. Calm in its majesty, the palace of Westminster emerged from the mist. Far downstream, the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral was faintly etched against the wintry sky. Between them gathered a million people to capture the scene in memory. Via Telstar and television, millions the world over watched the obsequies of Winston Churchill, who was, beyond doubt or animosity, one of the greatest men that Britain-and the West-had ever produced.

There was a time when a great state occasion was one of the few events that brought spectacle into most people's lives. Today, in an age of relentless distractions, pageantry competes for attention, and in this sense it is diminished. But it is also more affecting than ever when, as in Churchill's case, it goes so plainly beyond show and becomes an expression of the continuity between a nation's past and a people's heart. There is a feeling that in an era of computers, experts and government by consensus, the Churchillian kind of leadership may never again assert itself. It is the paradox of the unique man that he does not insist on his own uniqueness-only on the uniqueness of the continuing and self-renewing human spirit.